Aevum Carmen: A Stargate MacGyver Crossover
by Bansheila
Summary: Jack O'Neill and Angus MacGyver. Twin brothers, separated from each other as young children. This is their life. How they were born, separated, and eventually reunited.
1. The Beginning

(Life Song)

Aevum Carmen: Chapter one, part one.

*******

**Aevum Carmen: The Beginning…**

_June 12, 1949; Chicago Ill._

It was late, well past dark and the only illumination on the street was the street lights. The petite form of a young girl was the only one to be seen, the weather keeping most everyone inside that night.

It was cold, she thought as she stumbled down the empty street. The wind blew fiercely, easily penetrating her thin dress and coat. Lily Sanders shivered and pulled her coat more tightly across her body, tucking a lock of sandy brown hair behind her ear. As she hugged herself for warmth, she gazed down at her belly, where a small bulge was starting to become noticeable. Almost involuntarily, she placed a hand on the bump, fingers splayed and she blinked, eyes shining with a maelstrom of emotion. She smiled faintly, her hand stroking her belly slightly, before a particularly strong gust of wind sent her reeling and she fell backwards… then arms were around her and she heard a deep voice rumble, his accent sounding so pleasant to her.

"Easy there, lass." She looked up and into the kindest set of eyes she'd ever seen. An older gentleman, looking to be in his late 50's to early 60's smiled down at her as he set her back on her feet. "'Tis quite a windy night. Even I am havin' ta brace meself, let alone a wee lass like you. Are ya alright?"

"Y-yes. Th-thank you, s-sir." She said, her teeth chattering. He frowned and shook his head as he set her back on her feet.

"Lass, what were ye thinkin' comin' out in the cold dressed like you are? Here, child, take me coat." He unbuttoned his heavy overcoat and, while Lily protested, wrapped it around her thin shoulders. "Now, I won't hear a bit of nonsense from you, I have another jus' like it at home, and I am warm enough t' git home from here."

"But, sir, I can't just take your coat. I-I can't pay you for it!" She exclaimed, even as she drew the warm fabric around her thin shoulders, enjoying the warmth while she could.

"Now, did I ask for yer money? 'Tis not somethin' ya need pay me for, dear girl. T'was a gift." He studied her for a minute, and then said. "D'ya have a place t'go, lass? Ya look to be…a bit…" He paused trying to word it so she wasn't insulted. Lily smiled, appreciating the effort.

"I know." The man's kind eyes saddened, and she looked away. His eyes darted about for a minute then he brightened.

"I've got it. Come along now, the missus don't like people bein' late." He gently grasped her arm and tugged her along. She followed, bemused, and then asked.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To me home, lass. And if I know me wife, she'll have a grand supper waitin' on the table." He continued to pull her, even against her protests. "What's yer name, dear?"

"Lily. Lily Sanders."

"Ah, what a beautiful name." He exclaimed, looking at her with a smile and a coy wink. Lily couldn't help but to smile back. "I'm Angus, Angus O'Brian." He smiled at her again. A few minutes later, she was soon ushered inside a modest sized townhouse. He flung open the heavy wood door and Lily was immediately hit with the most wonderful smell she had ever experienced. And it was warm! So warm, and as she looked around, it was a cozy home; she could tell that someone had definitely put their heart and soul into making it a home, rather than just a house.

"Angus? Is that you, dear?"

"Aye, it's me, Edna. An' I brought some comp'ny!" Angus took the coat from her shoulders and hung it on a coat rack just as a woman bustled around a corner, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Well, now. Who is this ya've brought home?" Lily's first impression of Edna was that she reminded her of an older neighbor woman she had known when she was a little girl. By no means a small woman, Mrs. O'Brian had that motherly look about her, her light brown hair that was graying at the temples swept up into a loose bun. She wore a solid, navy blue dress, which matcher her own blue eyes beautifully. Her smile gave Lily a warm feeling and she felt some of the bone deep chill seep from her frame.

"This is Lily. I found this wee lass out on the street…" Angus started only to be cut off by Mrs. O'Brian's exclamation.

"In this weather! Goodness gracious child, what were you thinkin'? And not havin' a proper coat on." She 'tsked' twice. "Come, come," She hurried forward and wrapped her arm around Lily's shoulder, "I've'a kettle brewin' in the kitchen. I'll finish supper, while you have a cup'a tea." Lily just let herself be lead, enjoying the comfort while she could.

* * *

About ten minutes later, Lily was seated at the kitchen dining room. There was a hot mug of tea in her hands, and a smile on her face, the first true smile she could remember in the longest time. She closed her eyes as she listened to Mrs. O'Brian bustled around the kitchen, checking in the oven, stirring a pot on the stove and peeling potatoes in the sink. All the while, she kept up a steady stream of chatter.

"….and I told Mrs. McReedy that she ought not talk about people like tha', and I swear by me mother grave, that woman got in ta such a snit…Lily? Lily dear are you alright?" Lily opened her eyes and nearly jumped out of her skin. Mrs. O'Brian was about two inched from her face, peering through her small, thin wire framed spectacles.

"Oh! M-Mrs. O'Brian!" Lily struggled to her tea in her mug and her mug in her hand. "Fine, I'm fine… I was just…" She shrugged, her pale cheeks tinged red from embarrassment. "I was just listening." She finished quietly, head down staring at the floor. She didn't see Mrs. O'Brian smile softly, a little bit of sadness in her eyes as she nodded once in understanding. Lily lifted her head at the insistence of a finger hooked under her chin. Lily wasn't sure what she was expecting to see in Mrs. O'Brian's eyes, but the soft understanding in the older woman's face wasn't it.

"Ya poor dear. Ya look so tired. Come on, now. Supper's jus' about done. Let's get some good food into ya and then ya can rest a bit."

* * *

After supper, Lily helped Mrs. O'Brian clear the dishes and clean up in the kitchen. This time, however, there was silence in the kitchen, though not an unpleasant one. Lily quietly dries the dishes as they were handed to her, stacking them neatly onto the clean counter. As she placed the last plate into a stack, a picture on the wall caught her eye. She took a step closer, and recognized Mr. O'Brian and… Mr. O'Brian? Her brow furrowed… Twins?

"That's Angus's brother, dear." Lily turned slightly as Mrs. O'Brian came up behind her, a sad but affectionate look on her face.

"Mr. O'Brian has a twin?" Edna smiled sadly, true grief in her eyes and the sight made Lily's heart ache.

"Had, child. He died about five years ago. He saved Angus's life, but it cost 'im his own." Lily put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. That was rude of me to ask…" Mrs. O'Brian cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"It's alright, Lily, dear. We've long since accepted what happened. Still, we miss 'im." Lily nodded, not quite sure she understood.

"What was his name?" She asked tentatively. Edna sighed, staring at the picture, almost lost in thought. Finally she answered softly.

"Jonathan. His name was Jonathan."

* * *

It was well aftfer midnight, and Lily somehow found herself in the large bed of the O'Brian's guest room. After supper, she had made to leave, but the O'Brian's wouldn't hear of it.

_"Be reasonable, lass. It's too late and the weather tis gettin' worse. I'll not be havin' ya leave this house and catch yer death out there." _Mr. O'Brian had argued, and his wife stood behind him, a kind but determined look on her face. It clearly said that she would not be letting Lily out that door if she had any say.

_"Alright, I'll stay, but only for one night." _Lily had said, but now she couldn't stop herself from thinking that maybe they'd let her stay. But, even as she dreamed of how wonderful it would be, to live here in the place that felt more like a home to her then the place she had grew up ever felt, she dismissed it right away. _Why would they let you? You're nothing, not even worth the trouble,_ a voice inside her sneered. It sounded so much like her father. She felt tears come to her eyes, as the voice continued. _You're a pathetic brat. What makes you think that anyone would want you? You are nothing but a loose whore that got herself pregnant_. Lily sniffed and swiped at her eyes. Whore. The word was so dirty to her, but her father had tossed that in her face when she told him she was pregnant. He didn't believe her when she told him how it had happened. That the 'nice' Billy Thompson from down the road, the one that her father wanted her to marry… The one who had... Lily didn't even want to think about it, but the thoughts came unbidden to her mind. Tears flowing freely, Lily buried her face in her pillow, trying to stifle the sobs that forced their way past the lump in her throat and erupted from her lips.

* * *

Edna looked up from her knitting, straining her ears, listening to the sound of the house. Angus looked up from his book, eyes questioning.

"What is it, dear?"

"I thought I heard somthin'." She said, and then put a finger to her lips. She heard the noise again and her heart nearly broke. "Oh, the poor thing." She whispered, her own eyes tearing.

"Edna?"

"It's Lily, the dear, she's cryin'." Angus sighed, and placed his book down. He reached for his wife and pulled her against him.

"It'll be alright, my darlin'." He said, rubbing her back. "I knew from the moment I saw her on the street, we were meant to help the child, and the babe that she carries." He smiled when she looked up at him. "Don't worry dear. Lily will be stayin' with us for more than one night." His eyes twinkled as he hugged her tightly before he let her go. Edna immediately stood, pulling on a robe and left the room, Angus watching her go with a soft smile.

* * *

So wrapped up in her grief, Lily didn't notice the door open, nor the figure that came to sit lightly on the side of the bed. She started slightly, though, when a hand was placed gently on her shoulder. She looked up through teary eyes at Mrs. O'Brian, and attempted a smile, but her lip quivered and her chin trembled before a fresh bout of sobs tore from her mouth. Mrs. O'Brian sighed sadly and gathered the girl into her arms, rocking her gently back and forth, soothing away the tears. It took a while, but eventually the girl calmed and sat back, swiping at her eyes, her eye and cheeks red. She looked at Mrs. O'Brian miserably.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

"Oh, child. There's nothin' for ya to be sorry for."

"I'm being a nuisance," Lily looked up again and saw the robe Edna was wearing. "I woke you up, I'm already causing trouble! I'm sorry, I'll leave now, I don't wasn't to be any more trouble." Lily made to get up from the bed, but was stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder.

"You'll not be goin' anywhere, deary. And you are not causin' any trouble. We want you here, and…" Edna paused, staring the girl in the eyes, making sure she was paying attention. "We'd like you to stay." Lily blinked, hope swelling up in her, but she ruthlessly crushed it down.

"Why?" She asked, not believing that anyone would want her. Mrs. O'Brian smiled gently

"Because we want to, we need to. Lily, dear, even though we've only just met, Angus and I, we've both felt that you should stay." Edna looked at her earnestly, "Haven't ya felt it child?" She grasped Lily's hand and preset it to her chest, right over her heart. "Haven't ya felt it in yer heart?"

Lily could hardly think, so many emotions were flooding through her. But, through the storm, one feeling seemed to prevail and finally she smile tremulously up at Edna.

"Yes, I have. I've felt it." The smile that lit Mrs. O'Brain's face was brilliant. "And I'll stay." Lily let herself be drawn into a fierce embrace and for the first time in her life, she felt hope and love. "I'll stay."

**End Part one of Chapter one.**


	2. The Beginning pt 2

Aevum Carmen: Chapter one, part two…

******

**Aevm Carmen: The Beginning....**

_Six months later…._

Lily cried.

Pain wracked her body, sweat covered her and she prayed with all of her might that someone would come into the room and, oh_ god, _wouldn't they _please_, help her.

The pain that consumed her body, choked her, constricting her throat, she couldn't even scream for help. Just as the pain would lessen, another contraction would rip through her, barely giving her enough time to catch her breath. She gripped the white sheets of the hospital bed, her back arching, mouth open in a silent scream. Tears flowed from the corners of her eyes, and she fell back to the bed. Exhausted, she lay there, eyes closed chest heaving.

She didn't hear the door open and didn't realize someone had come to check on her until the nurse began calling for the doctor.

And, not for the first time, she wished that Mr. and Mrs. O'Brian could be there with her.

* * *

_One week prior…_

Lily sat on the duvet, her journal propped on her now very prominent belly. She had been living happily with the O'Brian's for a little over six months; she'd even gotten a job at a small shop, three blocks away. She'd also made friends with another worker, Mary. They were about the same age, Mary was five months older, and they'd become very close. Lily couldn't believe how much her life had changed! She'd gone from having a neglectful, verbally abusive father; to two loving people she would be proud to call her parents and a friend who was like a sister to her.

She'd even begun keeping a journal. Ever since she'd learned she was pregnant, she'd write the events of the day, her thoughts, sometimes just random things she had seen or stories she had heard. Lily wasn't sure why she had started it; she never had been one for writing, she just…

"Lily! Lily, dear, are ye here?" She heard the soft brogue of Mrs. O'Brian call, keys jingling as the door swung open.

"Yes, I'm here! I'm in the sitting room." She called, setting her journal aside and struggled up from the couch. Mrs. O'Brian breezed into the room, two bags of groceries in hand.

"Oh, no need to get up, child." Edna waved her back down with a quick smile. She continued into the kitchen, raising her voice a bit so Lily could hear her. "I just wanted t'make sure ye got home from the shop alright."

"Yes, ma'am." Lily leaned back into the cushions. Her back had been aching something fierce lately. "I got home about half an hour ago."

"Good, good." Edna said as she walked back into the sitting room. "And how'er ye feeling? The babes givin' ye any trouble?" Lily smiled, looking down at her belly, bringing one hand to rest against it.

"No, they've been good today. Hardly any kicking, though they've been moving a bit. Nothing too bad." Edna settled onto the couch next to her.

"Wonderful!" Edna wrapped one arm around Lily's shoulder, hugging the girl to her side. "I may seem like an old granny, but I can hardly wait 'till the wee ones arrive." Lily laughed, snuggling closer to the older woman and then sighed.

"I know. I can't wait either."

* * *

_Present_

Lily screamed; her cries reverberated off the walls in the small room, causing the nurse who was supporting her to wince. The doctor was at the foot of the bed, ready to deliver her first child. Sweat ran down her face, mingling with the tears that streaked her cheeks, her hair was a tangle mess, and she hurt _so much…_

"C'mon, now Lily. Take a deep breath… good, that's good. Now, I'm going to count to three, and then I want you to push, alright?" The doctor was calm. Lily wondered how anyone could be so calm. "Alright, now. One… two…three. Push! C'mon, push Lily!" Lily pushed. She pushed and pushed, until she finally screamed again. The pain was unbearable. "Alright, I see the head! Got the shoulder… it's a… it a boy! The first one, it's a boy!" Lily sobbed with relief, smiling. She relaxed as much as she could with her legs in the birthing stirrups, heaving a huge breath. Her cries were replaced with the babies, his tiny lungs voicing his displeasure. The nurses made quick work of cleaning the baby off, weighing him and wrapping him in a blue blanket. Soon, though, he was nestled against Lily's chest, and she smiled weakly down at the tiny boy. His cries settled quickly as he looked up at his mother.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" The nurse asked, smiling at mother and son. Lily nodded, staring into her baby's blue eyes.

"Jonathan. His name is Jonathan." Before she could say anything else, Lily gasped. Another contraction began and Jonathan was whisked away from her as the doctor moved into position again.

"Okay, here we go; baby number two! Alright, Lily, _push!_"

* * *

_Three days prior…_

"That will be $2.50, Ma'am." Lily said brightly, bagging the few items the woman was purchasing. The woman smiled, handing over the money. "Have a nice day ma'am." Lily smiled as the woman walked out the door. Lily's smile drooped as soon as the door swung shut.

"Boy, it sure has been a slow day, hasn't it?" Lily smiled wanly at her best friend, Mary.

"Yeah. It's so boring!" She said, sliding from her stool at the register and shuffling over to where Mary was folding a couple of shirts.

"Poor Lily; can't stand not having something to do." Mary said in a 'woe is me' voice, before chuckling at the indignant look on Lily's face.

"Well, I can't help it if I like keeping busy!" Lily placed her hands on her hips in mock anger. "And who are you to talk? I seem to recall someone who likes to _sing_ when they're bored. A particular version of 'Oh, Susanna!' comes to mind." Mary blushed bright red, and then countered with her own lighthearted barb.

"Well, I'm not the one who bent all of the paperclips out of shape, then used one to 'fix' the register."

"Hey! I only made it work better! I was so tired of it sticking; all I did was replace one little screw." Lily said, both of them staring into the others eyes, neither willing to give up. Finally, they both burst into laughter.

"Oh, Lily, even on a slow day, you make this place fun. What would I do without you?" Lily, eyes bright with laughter, shook her head.

"You'd be bored to tears, you silly girl. Without… ssstt! AHhh!" Lily gasped, almost doubling over, her hand pressing against her belly.

"Lily!" Mary rushed to her side, looking at her in concern and not a little fear. "Lily, what is it? Is it the babies? Oh goodness, are they coming?!"

"N-no. No, they're, ooohh, they're moving." Lily gasped out, wincing a little. "It doesn't, mmm, doesn't usually hurt this much." The pain was fading, and Lily carefully straitened up. "Boy, that really hurt! They've never moved that much before!" Lily looked at her best friend, faced glowing with happiness. "Oh, Mary! I just can't wait until they come. I really can't wait to see them." Mary smiled back at her.

"I know, Lily. You'll be such a great mother, I just know it!"

"And you'll make a great auntie for my babies, Mary; just like you've been a great sister."

* * *

_Present_

"Alright, I see this one's head! Here it comes. Almost! One more push, Lily! And… it's… another boy! Twin boy's Lily!" The doctor exclaimed, handing the tiny bundle off to a nurse. The baby suffered the same cleaning process, and then he was weighed, before he was settled into his mother's arms. Lily smiled down at his beautiful face.

"Angus, this one is Angus." She said. The nurse brought over Jonathan, helping Lily maneuver the boys so she could hold them both. "Oh, my babies. My baby boys." She whispered, a contentment she'd never felt before flooding through her. The world seemed to disappear around her, except for the two bundles in her arms. She vaguely heard a screeching alarm as the world suddenly tilted, spinning before her eyes. Her sons faces blurred, her ears were ringing. _What's happening? _She thought. Her sons were torn from her grasp as black spots dotted her vision. _Wait! My babies! What's wrong? _Her chest felt like someone was sitting on it. _I can't breathe! Oh, god, what's happening? Am I dying? Someone, please, do something! _Her heart was beating in her ears, her vision went black. Just before she lost consciousness she thought…

_What's going to happen to my babies?_

* * *

_Twelve hours prior._

"Mrs. O'Brian! Ahh! Mrs. O'Brian!" Lily called desperately. She was clutching her belly, doubled over in pain and breathing heavily. Edna hurried into the sitting room.  
"Lily, dear, is ev'rythin'…." The older woman paused at the sight of Lily, and then hurried into action. "Oh, dear, they're comin' aren't they? I'll get Angus, dear. We've got ta get you ta the hospital."

"Oohh, please hurry!" Edna walked faster out of the room, calling for her husband who was in his office. Once he had been informed of what was happening, he rushed to get the car. Edna hurried back to Lily, who was still in the sitting room.

"Lily. Don't ye worry now, child. My Angus has gone ta get the car. We'll have ya to the hospital in no time." Grasping her arm gently, Edna helped Lily to the front door. In less than a minute, they were all in the car, Edna in the back seat with Lily. Her cries of pain filled the small interior, even as Edna held her close and murmured a litany of soothing words.

One particularly loud cry had Mr. O'Brian looking over his shoulder in concern. As he did, he didn't notice the sudden curve in the road. Mrs. O'Brian did.

"Angus! Look out!" Edna cried, but the warning came too late.

Angus tried to swerve the car, but it went over the side of the road and down the steep incline.

The car slammed into a large oak tree at the bottom of the hill. The engine hissed; smoke leaking from under the crushed hood.

No one inside moved.

* * *

Lily woke up. Every part of her body hurt. She tried to move, but something pinned her ankle and her arm. She reluctantly opened her eyes, bright light stabbed its way into her head and she squeezed her eyes shut. A moan worked its way out of her throat. She turned her head to the side, opening her eyes again. The light was gone, replaced with the inside of Mr. O'Brian's car. She blinked, looking around as best she could. _What happened? _She thought fuzzily. She couldn't think straight. Her eyes closed again. She was so tired… maybe she'd rest for a minute…

"L-lily…Lily, dear. Child, wake up." _What? Mrs. O'Brian? Where…?_

"Lily, ya must awaken!" Lily opened her eyes, blinked and turned her head. She couldn't see very well, it was mostly dark. "That's it, dear. I'm right here."

"M-Mrs. O'Brian?"

"Yes. Oh, Lily, are ye alright?" Her entire body ached, and she couldn't feel her right leg.

"I..I'm fine…" Lily thought she heard a harsh sigh, almost a strangled laugh, but it could have been the blood rushing in her ears. She closed her eyes.

"Lily! Wake up! You have… ta stay… awake child!" _Why does she sound so breathless? _Lily opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry, but it focused after a minute. Mrs. O'Brian's face was only a foot or so from her own. A line of blood was running down the older woman's face, a large purple knot forming at her hairline above her right eye.

"Mrs. O'Brian? Are… are you… alright?"

"Oh, I'll be alright, deary. Tis nothin' but a scratch." She smiled. Lily didn't believe her.

"What… what happened? Where's Mr. O'Brian?" Lily asked, her voice trembling.

"We've… we've been in… an accident, child. My Angus, he…" He voice caught a little. "He lost control… of the car. We went down… down a hill."

"Is he alright?" Lily looked at Edna with wide eyes. The woman couldn't meet her gaze. _No…_

"No, child." She whispered. "My Angus… oh, my poor Angus…. he didn't make it." A tear rolled down her cheek. "He's gone." Lily bowed her head, grief welling in her chest. Her heart was breaking. _I didn't even get to say goodbye…_ Suddenly she felt a pain in her belly, another contraction was coming. She gasped, her already hurting body protesting the added pain.  
"Ooohh, Mrs. O'Brian! A-another con-contraction… Aaahhhh!" She shrieked. Her face contorted in pain, pain from the contraction and as her body pulled against whatever was pinning her down. Mrs. O'Brian snaked a hand out and laid it on Lily's shoulder, the only place she could reach. It took a few minutes, but the contraction finally eased and Lily could breathe again, barely. Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw in precious oxygen.

"Lily, don't… worry. The… the police will be here…soon." Mrs. O'Brian wheezed out, her voice weak and breathy. Lily looked at her in fright.

"Mrs. O'Brian? Why-why do you sound like that? You're hurt!" For the first time, Lily noticed the crimson stain spreading on what she could see of the older woman's blouse. Enda smiled weakly, her face pale.

"I'll be fine, child. You need to worry about… yerself….and you children. Not about… an old woman… like me." Her eyelids drooped, her head tiled to the side, resting on the mangled car seat.

"No! Mrs. O'Brian! You… you can't leave me!" Edna opened her eyes and smiled.

"I'm not leavin' you, child." She took in a shaky breath. "I'll… always… be with you… I love.. ya… so much, Lily. Ye were… like the… daughter…I ne'er…had…" Her eyes slid closed, and she sighed once, then her entire body stilled.

"No! No! You can't!" Lily sobbed. "I love you, too! I never told you! I.. never… got the… chance.. no…" Lily cried, grief overwhelming her. In one quick moment she just lost the mother she never had, the grandma she always wanted and the father she wished was her own. Not five minutes later, the police and an ambulance arrived, but they were too late to save her family. They could only make sure that she and her children survived.

* * *

_Present_

A smartly dressed woman made her way into the hospital. Her high heels clicked loudly on the tiled floor, and a satchel was clutched in one hand. A step behind her another, more motherly woman, followed, dressed in a simple blouse and navy skirt. Both had serious looks on their faces. The first woman marched right up to the front desk.

"I'm Mizz McCredie. I was called for the…" She paused and quickly dug into her bag, pulling out a sheet of paper. "Sanders twins." She stated. The nurse at the desk nodded and quickly directed them to the nursery. Soon, McCredie and her assistant were in the newborn nursery, staring at the two boys sleeping soundly in their beds. McCredie looked up at the duty nurse.

"Are they ready to travel?" The nurse nodded.

"Yes. They suffered no ill effects from the accident." McCredie nodded sharply.

"Good. In that case, have them prepared. We'll be taking them as soon as you have them ready." The nurse nodded and started to leave the room, but paused at the door.

"Is… is there any chance you could have them adopted together? They've already lost their mother; I'd hate to think they'd never know each other." The nurse asked timidly, almost sadly. McCredie straitened and looked at her sharply.

"That is quite enough!" She stated crisply. "Our agency will find a good home for the boys, one that will provide and care for them. If they happen to be separate from each other, then so be it. But, I will not jeopardize the chance of them finding a home by insisting they be kept together. That is not what we do." McCredie tugged on her suit jacket once then sighed. "Now, get the children's release forms. They will be leaving within the hour."

"Yes'um." The nurse scurried from the room, rushing to prepare for the children's release.

In less than half an hour, the papers had been signed and the twins, Angus and Jonathan, were loaded into the car and were off to the state orphanage.

**End Part Two, Chapter One.**


	3. Encounters

**Aevum Carmen: Chapter 2, Part One: Encounters…**

_1971, Vietnam, Johnson Air Base_

* * *

In the sweltering heat of the jungle, somewhere near the highest boarder of South Vietnam, 19 year old Private Angus MacGyver was dying.

Of heat.

"God, can it get any hotter?!" Mac swiveled his head to the side, sweat running down his tanned face. He gave a quick glance at the young man sitting next to him.

"Don't jinx us, Phil, it just might!" He said with a quick laugh, swiping at his forehead with a damp cloth, before burying his hands back into the jeep engine he was tinkering with. It was about mid day, and Mac was just making head way on getting the vehicle back in working order. Mostly, he just wanted to finish so he could get into the shade.

"Naw, man, I'm serious! It's got to be what? 105 degrees out?" Phil shook his head, leaning back against a crate of supplies.

"More like 115." He mumbled. "And I don't see what you're complainin' about!" Mac said, slightly miffed. "After all, you _are _occupying the only shade out here, other than inside the barracks." Phil just laughed.

"Well, I'm not the one who wreaked the general's private jeep, am I?" Mac glowered at his 'friend' before getting back to work.

"S'not like I meant to." Mac viscously tightened a bolt. "He really shouldn't have parked there!"

"Right." Phil chuckled "The general should have known that you were looking for a place to toss that charge you were 'practicing' on, with_out_ permission." Phil huffed a small laugh. "Heh, tweaking is more like it."

"It was a small one!" Mac protested, but Phil ignored him. "And I wasn't 'tweaking' it, I _was_ practicing!" Phil continued like he hadn't said anything.

"He should have known that you, being you, would choose to throw it in that direction when it started to countdown. And he also should have known that it would completely destroy the engine to his personal vehicle. He is a general after all, he should know these things." Phil ended his sarcastic tirade with an equally sarcastic smile and nod. Mac just rolled his eyes. After six months on tour with the guy, he had learned to just ignore most of his blather.

"So, have you heard anything about the new arrivals yet?" He asked, trying to change the subject. Choosing not to acknowledge the sudden shift in subject, Phil just nodded.

"A little, but not much. Only one guy in particular that everyone's talking about. Some gung-ho, trigger-happy risk taker that no one wants to work with." Phil said with not a little disgust. He, like MacGyver, had an aversion to guns, which was why they both chose to be on the Bomb disarmament team. Only thing was, Mac reluctantly accepted a soldiers use of his weapon while Phil hated most of them for it.

"You don't sound very happy that this guy was transferred here." Mac said, taking a quick look at Phil. The shorter man pulled a face.

"Not really. I even heard that he killed one of his own squad on the last detail they pulled. I mean, do we really need someone like that here? It's not like we don't have enough brainless soldiers who think the only way to solve something is with the business end of an automatic." Mac sighed, shoulders heaving. Phil always seemed to believe the worst in people, even what was heard in far-fetched rumors.

"Phil, c'mon, do you have to be like that?" Phil glowered at MacGyver, crossing his arms petulantly.

"What, you don't agree with me?" Mac shook his head.

"Only in that I disagree with their use of guns. _I _know how to get things done without them, and _you _know there are better ways, too; but just because it's a soldiers job doesn't mean that you should hate _them._ Disagree, yes. Hate? Never. I have a lot of respect for the soldiers out here, and you should too." Mac said, leveling a heavy gaze at Phil. Phil just rolled his eyes.

* * *

Airman Jack O'Neill sighed, staring up at the sky with a look of longing. This is _not _how he pictured his service in the Air Force to be; stuck on the ground. Somewhere in the distance a fighter zoomed by, almost mocking him with the sound of its powerful engines. Jack sighed again before looking at the base around him. Blinking the sun spot from his eyes, he took in his new 'home' for the next six monthsil just rolled his eyes.

"So, Jackie boy, have ya settled in yet." _Oh, god, not this idiot again_. Jack turned with a slight grimace, eyeing the approaching airman with distaste. The man was a definite pain in his ass. Always looking at him like he wanted to start something; and Jack didn't want any more trouble. He was in enough as it was. Airman Paul Donahugh slung his arm around Jacks shoulders, a cigarette clenched in his teeth. Jack raised an eyebrow at the arm around his neck, the annoyance clear in his eyes.

"Donahugh; what can I do for you?" He said stiffly, gripping Donahugh's wrist and lifting the man's arm from his shoulder.

"Aw, I don't need nothin', Jackie boy. I was just wonderin' how you were doin'." Donahugh looked around, and then stared at Jack intensely. "Ya shot anyone yet?" He said, a malicious glean in his eyes. Jack felt a red hot rage bubble up inside. Before he knew it, his right fist had connected with Donahugh's nose. The man yelped in pain, falling backwards onto his rear.

"The hell, man!?" He shouted, his voice muffled by his hands cupped over his nose.

"You slimy little bastard." Jack hissed, staring down at him, his brown eyes nearly black with rage. "I oughta kick your ass for that!"

"Airmen!" A sharp voice pierced the air. Jack whirled around and immediately stood at attention. The approaching Colonel took everything in with sharp eyes. "What is going on here?" Donahugh stood slowly, one hand still over his nose, blood leaking between his fingers.

"Nothing, sir." Jack said, face blank. The Colonel shifted his gaze, from one man to the other. Donahugh nodded slowly in agreement.

"It was nothing, sir. An accident, sir." He stated. The Colonel frowned, before he nodded.

"Very well. Go get yourself checked out, Airman. Dismissed." Both young men started to walk away, when the Colonel called out. "Not you, O'Neill." Jack froze midway through a step, closing his eyes and grimacing. Then he straightened his shoulders and turned back, face once again blank.

"Yes, sir?" The colonel stared at him for a minute, arms clasped behind his back, before opening his mouth to speak.

"I've heard about you, Airman." He said. Jack closed his eyes briefly in resignation. _Here it comes…_ He thought; the blame, the condemnation, the 'you could have done better, Airman' speech. At least he preferred that to the pity. The pity was worse than anything. "I know it's probably not what you want to hear, but…" The older man sighed and Jack finally looked back at him. "I know what you're going through, son. I've been there." He said kindly.

"Sir?" Jack was confused. Frowning, he looked, really _looked_ at the colonels face. It was then that he noticed something about the man's eyes. It was older, better hidden then his own, dulled through the passage of time, but no less powerful. The pain, the guilt, the never ending what ifs…. It was all the same and Jack blinked, for the first time feeling relief that _some_one understood, wouldn't condemn him or lecture him. He just _knew_. Jack smiled. It wasn't big or a happy smile, just a small one; one that showed his relief and gratitude for the brief respite from everyone else and their false understanding. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He said softly, his voice just barely above a whisper.

"Yes, well… carry on, Airman." Jack turned, making it a few steps before his superior called out to him. "O'Neill!" Jack turned,

"Yes, sir?"

"Next time, just walk away." The colonel said with a smile. "That way, you won't land in the brig." Jack nodded before turning on his heal and heading towards the barracks.

* * *

One week later…

MacGyver was having an _extremely _weird week. People he'd never met before kept _looking _at him. And it wasn't the kind of look where a person just has a fleeting moment of wondering who you are. These were deep, meaningful, hate-filled _glares_.

He just didn't understand it. It was starting to unnerve him.

And it was affecting his work.

More than once, his commanding officer had called him on a major mistake in his disarmament of practice bombs. Mistakes that if they had happened in the field could have possibly killed a lot of people.

He needed to clear his head.

Mac sighed as he approached the barracks, hoping that everyone was at lunch. He needed some time alone.

* * *

Jack was having one hell of a bad day.

First, he awoke to some Airman that was drunk off his ass, coming in from a three day pass. Not only had the moron tripped over the trunk at the end of Jack's bunk, but then he decided to empty the entire contents of his stomach…. on Jack's boots.

Then, in the showers, _some_one thought it would be cute to steal his clothes. Jack had to wrap a curtain around himself, toga style, just to get another set of fatigues.

He was thankful nothing happened at breakfast.

Now, though, he wished it had carried on through lunch.

Some lieutenant had 'accidentally' bumped into him in the mess. That in itself wasn't much, but when his tray went flying and landed on the base commander's lap… that was a big deal. The group that conspired to trip him had fled the scene, laughing hysterically, leaving Jack alone to face the wrath of the General.

Jack still wasn't sure what he said to the commander that got his butt off the hook.

Appetite gone, but a headache going full force, Jack headed to the barracks. _Maybe some alone time will help,_ Jack thought. He pushed the door open, and was about to step in when he heard a low rumbling behind him. It was getting louder.

Jack turned his head and stared up into the sky, chocolate eyes widening in horror as he recognized enemy bombers. Just then the sirens signaling an attack started up and all thoughts of relaxing quietly vanished as he rushed to the nearest armory as the voice of some soldier rose over the din through a bull horn.

"**INCOMING**!"

* * *

Mac looked up from the broken radio he had disassembled in front of him as the door opened. No one walked in, but he frowned when the action allowed the deep rumbling sound into the room. His eyes widened when the raid alarm sounded. He abandoned the scattered pieces of machinery and had just reached the door when the loud voice of a soldier hollering over a bull horn rang out.

"**INCOMING**!"

_To be continued…._


	4. Encounters pt 2

**Aevum Carmen: Chapter Two, Part Two: Encounters….**

* * *

Mac dove behind the relative cover of an overturned jeep, curling into a ball as the piercing whistle of a falling bomb rang, and then exploded as it hit the ground not far from him. Ears now ringing, Mac looked up and around, panic welling inside of him, even as he tamped it down mercilessly. He poked his head over the side of the jeep, seeing the fighting soldiers, seeing men he considered friends falling under a hail of enemy bullets. Panic turned to anger when Mac saw the incoming enemy soldiers as they quickly overran the base caught unprepared. Mac scanned the area around him and took in everything, pursing his lips in determination as he formulated a plan in his mind. There was a small group of soldiers pinned down by snipers, unable to evacuate. Mac took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and then bolted out from behind his cover. He ran, fast as he could to the ammo shed, full of things he knew he could use to his advantage.

* * *

Jack hefted the automatic rifle in his hands, taking aim and pulling the trigger. His aim went way off, not even coming close to hitting the target he wanted to.

'_Dammit, Jack! Squeeze the trigger! SQUEEZE the trigger, don't jerk it!'_

Clenching his teeth, Jack took aim again, this time pulling back gently on the trigger, squeezing it gently.

Direct hit. Target down.

Jack closed his eyes briefly before moving on to the next target. Any remorse for his action was ruthlessly crushed as he continued to fight for his life and that of his fellow soldiers.

* * *

'_Alright, this should work.'_ Hands moving deftly, Mac compiled a good amount of ammunition. He carefully packed each modified item into a pack, filling it almost halfway.

'_Okay, let's get moving.'_ Mac tugged the pack over his shoulder before ducking out the door, flinching at the impact of each bullet on the side of the shed. He'd just made it to the first barricade of sandbags when the shed behind him exploded.

'_Too close!' _He winced.

* * *

He saw it coming.

"Crap!" Jack swore heavily, ducking behind a pile of sandbags. The grenade dropped about twenty feet from the cover, blowing dirt and debris over the barricade, and leaving his ears ringing. He scrambled back to his feet and poked his head out, a little disconcerted to see all the action of battle and the only sound he heard was the muffled ringing in his ears from the explosion.

Because of that now severe handicap, Jack didn't see the enemy soldier sidling up behind him. A shadow on the ground alerted Jack to the danger, almost too late. He only had time to turn around to see the butt end of a rifle aimed for his face come flying at him. He jerked out of the way, but not fast enough. The rifle caught him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him.

He fell to the ground gasping, a choked cry of pain bursting from his mouth. He'd barely drawn in one breath before the soldier swung at him again. Jack rolled out of the way, and then kicked the feet out from under the enemy. Not giving the other man a chance to recover, Jack pounced. He gripped the rifle, trying to snatch it away from the other man. In his struggle, he didn't notice the other enemy soldier sneaking up on them. The second foe drew back his rifle and swung the butt down onto the back of Jack's head.

Jack fell to the ground, out cold.

* * *

"Damn!"Mac cursed. "Last one." He pulled the last of his 'home-made' artillery out of his pack. Looking out into the battle and how heavily outnumbered they were, he knew he had to make this one count. He stuffed the explosive back in his pack, and then crept slowly along the tree line, heading for an enemy caravan that had parked just out of eye line from. After watching it for a few minutes, he knew that it held a lot of artillery. He'd seen many men head to and from the truck, each one leaving more heavily armed then when they came. If he could just get to it, maybe he could make an irreparable hole in the enemies attack on the base, giving his comrades a chance to get them to retreat. Crawling on his belly through the overgrowth of the jungle, Mac watched as soldier after soldier stomped passed him on their way to add to the attack on the base. Seeing the scuffed black boots of those enemy soldiers, and the distant retort of gunfire, only made him scurry faster on his way to the caravan. It took longer then he had wanted, but he finally made it. The giant tractor tire of the convoy truck was mere feet from his face, and from there it was simply a matter of getting under the truck and planting the device on the fuel tank. Simple. Yeah, right. Only thing was, the 'mere feet' was about a five foot span of open ground, in plain sight of the two guards facing in his direction, right next to the truck. He'd never make it without being seen.

But he had to try.

Slowly, Mac got his feet under him, and rose to crouch. Careful not to draw attention to himself, he looked around for anything he could use to distract the guards. It didn't take long. A fist sized rock, only a foot away should be distraction enough. He hefted it, sharp eyes looking for a good target. He whipped the rock a good thirty feet in front of the guards.

Success!

The guards turned, one of them running off to investigate the sound, the other facing away from Mac, eyes trained on the jungle. MacGyver didn't hesitate. He quickly darted across the opening, and was under the truck and out of site within seconds. Chest heaving from adrenaline and a spike of nervous fear, Mac removed the artillery from his pack, and began attaching it to the fuel tank.

Now he just needed something to delay the detonation. He cast his eyes to the ground, looking for a good thick piece of straw or something similar. He grabbed a couple scraps of semi dried vines, braiding the long, thin pieces together.

Perfect.

He pulled the pin from the detonation device, stopping it with his finger, before carefully looping the vine through. That done, he gathered up his things, make sure that he was ready to run, and then pulled a packet of matches from his pocket. He quickly lit the vine, then scurried out from under the truck and made to dash for cover. He figured he had about two minutes before the vine burnt through and the pin triggered. He had plenty of time to get to good hiding spot before the truck went off.

Or he would have, had he not run right into an enemy soldier, a gun pointed right at his face.

"Uh, hi there!" Mac said, heart leaping into his throat, pasting a jovial smile playing on his lips as he fought to hide his fear. "What's up? Whoa, hey!" He exclaimed as two more soldiers grabbed him from behind. "Easy, easy." The man in front of him drew back his rifle, and Mac squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the pain.

'_Oh, crap, this is _soo_ going to hurt!'_

The rifle connected with a sickening crunch against his face. Mac slumped in the grips of the soldiers, semi-conscious. He was right. It did hurt. He could feel the warm flow of blood down his chin as the soldiers began to drag him away; to where he didn't know, but it couldn't be good.

_***KA-BLAAM***_

The explosion rocked the ground as the truck went up in a ball of flame. Mac was flung to the ground, the soldiers landing with brutal force on top of him, the blast concussion flinging them into his back with crushing force. With that final blow, Mac was sent spinning into the darkness of unconsciousness.

* * *

Pain.

That was the first thing that registered in his mind as he woke. Then came the voices; disembodied sounds hovering over him. He opened his eyes. It was dark. He blinked. Nothing. Darkness surrounded him. He blinked again. Still nothing. A moment of irrational fear and panic rose up in him.

'_Oh, god. I'm blind!'_

He shifted, ready to reach up and scrub at his eyes, do anything to return the sight to them.

The movement tore a ragged breath from his chest, his choked cry echoing loudly.

The voices stopped.

They returned, louder this time. Hands grabbed at him, pulling him up, gibbering at him.

Light suddenly flooded his vision as the hood he didn't realize was over his head was yanked off. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bring up his hands to block the light. He cried out again, as raw wrists pulled against the rope that bound him.

Through the blinding light, he saw a blurred shadow above him.

It blurred towards him, and then agonizing pain flared through his head and darkness fell over his vision again.

MacGyver's bruised body fell to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

He'd always hated the dark. He remembered as a kid, lying in his room after bedtime, staring into the infinite blackness, afraid of what was in it. But now…. Now it was worse. It was one thing to be a kid and scared of what was in the dark of your bedroom, still knowing that your parents were at the end of the hall. Your mother was there to hug you and assure you that, no, there wasn't a monster under the bed. Your father was there to check in the closet, _just in case_, and chase away the scary shadows.

But, it was a whole n'other ball game to be tied up in a cold, damp cell, with nothing around you but complete and utter darkness, where monsters were real and they lurked in those shadows with automatic weapons and God knows what else. Mom and dad weren't there to chase the monsters away and no one was there to soothe away the fear.

No; this was a completely different level of terrifying.

He shifted, groaning as the movement pulled at the ropes binding his arms behind his back, stretching the sore muscles in his aching chest, shooting searing pain through his pounding head. He let his head fall back onto the dirt floor of his cell, feeling the fuzziness of unconsciousness creeping up on him again.

'_I am so screwed.' _Jack thought, and then blacked out again.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	5. Encounters pt 3

_Aevum Carmen: Chapter 2 part 3_

_September 25, 1962  
_

_

* * *

_

"_Mom? Ma, I'm home!" A young boy about age thirteen called out, slinging his book bag to the floor before kicking off his shoes. He made his way to the refrigerator, grabbing the milk and chugging right from the bottle. _

"_Jack? We're in the living room, sweetheart!" His mother's high voice called out, sounding overly sweet. _

'We?'_ Jack thought, frowning as a burst of laughter floated into the kitchen. One laugh he easily recognized as his mother. The other was a man, of that he was certain, but he didn't know who. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before putting the bottle back in the fridge and making his way to the living room. He paused in the alcove, staring at the strangeness of it._

_He mother was sitting on the small love seat next to an older man, her fine china – _But she never_ touches_ those, _except when gran's here_!_ – on the coffee table, the faint smell of earl grey wafting through the room. _

"_Ma?" He said, slightly hesitant. Marge O'Neill looked up, a wide smile on her face, her green eyes shining more then he'd seen in years. _

"_Jack! Sweetheart, come here. I have someone I want you to meet." _

_The man seated on the sofa turned his head, face smiling, and a friendly expression on his face. He stood, reaching out his hand, a genial greeting passing his lips, but all Jack could focus on were the man's eye. _

_His cold, black, lifeless eyes. _

_A shiver went up Jack's spine as he swore he could feel the temperature in the room drop as the man gripped his hand._

"_Jack, this is Mr. Dowtry. He's just moved in next door. He's a retired hockey player Jack, I'm sure you two will get along quite well." Jack heard his mother say, but it was as if her voice were a great distance away. _

"_Huh? Oh, yeah, sure Ma." He said distractedly. The skin around Mr. Dowtry's eyes tightened a bit, lines that weren't there before appearing, and his large hand gripped Jack's painfully. Hissing a little in pain, Jack wrenched his hand away, breaking the painful grip, and turned to face his mother. "I've-I've got a lot of homework to do tonight, Ma. Is it okay if I get started on it now?" Anything to get away from _him_._

"_Of course, sweetheart."_

"_Thanks, Ma." Jack all but ran from the room, snatching his bag before thundering up the stairs. He stopped on the second floor landing, turning around to find the source of the burning itch in his back. He once again met the cold dead eyes of Mr. Dowtry, glaring at him from the living room. Jack wasted no time in scurrying to his room and slamming the door shut with a bang._

* * *

**Bang!**

Jack woke with a start at the loud slam of a door, somewhere down the dark recesses of the hall. Getting his bearings, he sat up slowly; listening to the receding foots steps, clutching at his surely broken ribs. There was the sound of another door being slammed and Jack knew that he was alone. Or at least he thought he was. A low pitched groan had him on instant alert.

"Hello?" He rasped out, throat parched with thirst. "Who's there?"

No answer.

"Is there someone else there? Hello?!" He called a little louder.

"Wha..?" The half formed response was barely whispered, but in the quiet of the prison cells, he could make out the bleary word.

"Who are you?" Jack called out, hoping it was a fellow soldier, and at the same time, not wishing this hell on anyone.

"Wha….what's goin'…on?" The voice rasped, but it was definitely an American accent.

"You've been taken prisoner," Jack said. "There was an attack on the base."

"Prisoner?" The man seemed more coherent now, voice less slurred.

"What's your name, soldier?" He called out.

"Mac… name's Mac."

* * *

"Mac…name's Mac."

God, his head hurt. MacGyver shifted to lean against the bars of his cell. The bars felt cool on his face, soothing some of the heat from the beating he'd received. His breaths came in short pants as he tried to breathe through is mouth and not his nose, 'cause his nose _hurt_.

"_Yeah, that happens when you get bashed in the face with a rifle." _The sardonic voice in his head snarked at him.

"Hey! You still there?" The other man called out. "Mac?"

"Yeah…" He croaked out. "M'here." Getting his bearings, he looked up, and took as deep of a breath as he could. "How… 'bout you. What's y'r name?" He said, the words still a little slurred through his bruised lips.

"My name's Jack." The man, Jack, replied.

"Hey Jack, s'nice to…. meet….you." In the quite of the prison, Mac could clearly hear the half-hysterical snort that echoed across the hall.

"Yeah, man. It's nice to meet you, too." The fear was making the walls close in. Mac clenched his fists, trying to stop the trembling in his limbs. The tension in his body was pulling his already abused and tender muscles. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Mac settled himself against the bars of his cell, unknowingly mirroring the man down the hallway. He rested his head back against the bars, trying to let his fear go, trying to relax.

* * *

Jack knew he was getting a little hysterical, he could feel the bubbly panic that was rising up and threatening to choke him. He took a few deep breaths, the smile dropping from his face. He turned against the bars, leaning back and sliding to the floor, holding his head in his hands. Sucking in another deep breath Jack let his head fall back against the bars of his cell.

"So, Mac. Looks like we're… going to be here for a while." The words, all but admitting they were doomed in their small cells, fell from his mouth like ash. "Tell me about yourself." Jack said, desperate for any distraction.

"Sure, Jack." Mac answered.

The words flowed over him, soothing raw nerves.

Jack closed his eyes, and listened.

* * *

_July 13th 1957_

_"I got one! I got one, Harry!" A young Angus MacGyver called out excitedly, watching with wide eyes as the fishing pole in his hand twitched and pulled as the fish struggled._

_"Alright, Bud, alright. Just, stay calm. Don't tug on it, or he'll break free." The grizzled older man came up behind his young grandson, putting his hands on his shoulders. "Be real easy, give him some slack. Make sure he's got the bait real good before you try and reel him in." The boy did as he was instructed, letting the fishing line slack a little. _

_"Can I reel him in yet?" He asked, nearly bouncing with excitement. _

_"Not yet. Ya gotta be patient, Bud. If you're not patient, he's gonna get away."_

_"Okay, Harry. I can do it."_

_"I know ya can, Bud." Harry said. He gently guided the boy, telling him when to give slack, when to give tension, until it was time to reel the fish in. "Alright, Bud. Bring him in!"_

_"Oh, wow! Harry, look at it! Look at how big it is!"_

_"It's a whopper, for sure!" Harry deftly pulled the hook and lure from the fishes mouth and started to put him in the empty catch bucket. The boy watched the entire process, eyes locked on the fish, its desperate twitching and gasping. Something inside his little body felt sorry for the poor creature, he needed to help it somehow. He looked up at his grandfather and spoke._

_"Harry?" The now timid voice of the little boy made Harry look up. _

_"Yeah, Bud?"_

_"Do…do we have to keep it? Couldn't….couldn't we let it go?" Wide brown eyes stared up at Harry, and he couldn't help but smile softly. _

_"Sure, Bud. We can let it go." The brilliant smile he received in return was nearly blinding. So together they lowered the fish back into the lake and watched it swim off. The little boy threw his arms around his grandfather's waist, squeezing him tightly. _

_"Thanks, Harry." He said. Harry gave him a quick hug._

_"You're welcome Bud."_

To be continued….


	6. Imprisonment

Aevum Carmen Chapter 3 part 1: Imprisonment

* * *

_1954_

_Twin boys, about three years old, sat in the middle of a sandbox in a large, toy filled yard. They sat, facing each other, not saying a word, but they both seemed to understand each other perfectly without talking. Systematically, they took bucket after bucket of wet sand and built a castle, one that was surprisingly well built for two boys so young. They stopped in unison as an older woman walked up to them, a young couple trailing after her. She knelt down and picked one of the boys up._

_As she turned, walking towards the couple that was smiling happily, little arms reached over her shoulder, reaching for the other boy on the ground who was reaching back. As the older woman handed over the first little boy to the young couple, a shrill little voice called out._

"_Jack!"_

* * *

"_Jack!_

Jack woke.

There was no in between, no lingering in that moment between sleep and awake, he was just suddenly aware.

He bolted upright, dizziness disorienting him as his vision swam. He closed his eyes again, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

"Jack! C'mon, answer me!"

Oh. Right. Mac.

_Probably should answer him._ A small niggling voice in his mind whispered. He nodded to himself, wondering if talking to a voice in his head was the first sign that he was losing it. He ruthlessly shoved that thought into the back of his mind and answered.

"…yeah… M'here, Mac." He croaked.

"God, Jack, don't _do _that!"

Jack quirked a little smile at that. It was nice to think that someone cared.

"Sorry, Mac. Think I dozed off, there, for a minute." There was a little stretch of silence, giving Jack a minute to collect his thoughts. After a minute, Mac spoke.

"So, I told you about me, why don't you tell me about yourself, Jack." Jack sucked in a deep breath, and then nodded.

"Sure." Jack leaned back against the wall. "What do you want to hear about?"

"I don't care. Uhhh, your first car, first girlfriend… I don't know. Something that's…happy." Mac shrugged; anything that would help to dispel the gloom and dread of being imprisoned.

"Happy, huh?" Jack smiled, leaning back and closing his eyes.

* * *

_June 1967_

"_Alright, son, you're doing real well." _

_Sixteen year old Jack O'Neill sat at the controls of a little single engine plane, 2000 feet above the ground. The older man sitting next to him was smiling at him with pride in his eyes._

"_This is great Mr. Lewis!" The smile on Jack's face was nearly blinding, and his eyes were bright with excitement._

"_You're a natural, Jack. I've never seen anyone take to flying like you did." Mr. Lewis said. Jack blushed, not used to the praise. He suddenly looked shy, glancing at the man next to him out of the corner of his eye. With a few hesitating start, Jack finally spoke._

"_I…I wanted to… to thank you for this, Mr. Lewis." The man looked over at the young teen, a gentle look in his eye._

"_There's nothing to thank me for, Jack."_

"_But… but you went through all this trouble for me, taking me up here…"_

"_It wasn't any trouble, Jack." The man said firmly. "I wanted to do this with you. Don't think I haven't noticed how you look at any airplane you see. I could tell that you wanted to fly, I could see it in your eyes just as plain as day." _

_Jack flushed again, this time with the guilt of having been caught. Mr. Lewis sighed as he watched Jack divert his eyes, and refuse to look at him._

"_Jack," He said. "Look at me, Jack." The boy looked up at him. "I'm going to tell you this again, and I want you to listen to me very carefully." Jack nodded. "I wanted to do this with you. You are a very special young boy, and I am very, very, happy that I was able to share this with you. You are going to be a great pilot someday, Jack. You stick with this, and there is no limit as to how far you'll go."_

"_Really?" Jack asked, still unsure. Mr. Lewis smiled and nodded._

"_Really."_

* * *

"That was my first time up in the air. Man, it was great! And Mr. Lewis, I loved spending time with him. He was like a grandfather to me. I always had fun when I was with him. He's the one that made me want to go into the Air Force. He showed me the joy of flying, and I've loved it…."

*CLANK*

The sound of the large metal door at the end of the hall opening cut Jack off mid-sentence. Multiple footsteps echoed on the stone floor, but stopped before they reached Jack's cell.

Another door clanked open.

Jack stood, gripping the bars in his hands tightly, knuckles turning white.

Foreign voices rose in volume, and Jack heard Mac's voice mix in the shouting.

"Mac." He whispered; dread settling in his stomach like an iron ball. "No."

The voices rose in volume, and Mac's voice rose above the rest. He was screaming in protest, to not be taken. Something about the terror in his voice awoke something deep within Jack, and desperation filled him.

"Mac! NO, don't you hurt him, you bastards! MAC! _Damn it_, no, no, no, no!" Jack screamed at their captors. "Mac! Mac!"

"Jack!" Mac screamed back at him, irrationality filling him. Jack's voice yelling at him made him want to reach out to the man he had just met, thinking if he could just reach him, they wouldn't take him. "Jack, help me! Please! Jack, JACK!" The hands holding him dragged him further down the hall. "No, JACK! Don't let them take me! Jack!"

He was dragged through the heavy metal door, and he watched as they slammed it shut, cutting him off from Jack, the only friendly voice he had found in the hellhole they woke in.

"MAC!"

* * *

Without a way to tell how long he had been in the cell, Jack came to the conclusion that time did not exist. Whether it had been four minutes, four hours or four days, he couldn't tell. He couldn't tell how long ago they had taken Mac, and he didn't want to even think about what they were doing to him. Horror stories that other, older soldiers had told him, trying to scare the newbies, flashed through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and started humming 'row, row, row your boat' as thoughts of Mac being beat and tortured filled his mind, trying to drive them away. He didn't want to think about his new friend being hurt that way, because thinking about it made a part of him inside howl with rage and grief because _he couldn't protect him_…..

*CLANK*

The sound of the door opening again made Jack's eyes snap open. There were rustling footsteps, the sound of something being dragged, and murmur of voices, but he couldn't hear what they were saying.

And he couldn't _see_ anything, dammit!

Jack let out a frustrated growl, craning his neck to see further down the hall, to see what was going on. More clanking of iron doors, and footsteps, and they were gone.

Silence.

Jack's heart was in his throat. He swallowed hard, and then opened his mouth to speak.

"Mac?" His voice came out in a harsh whisper. "Mac, you there?"

Silence.

"_Mac?!"_ Jack called a little louder.

Nothing.

Jack sighed, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. His grip in the bars of his cell slacked and he was ready to turn away when he heard something.

"Ja-ackk?" The soft, cracking voice floated down the hall. Jack almost missed it because of how soft it was. He immediately straightened.

"Mac!" Jack's wide grin threatened to split his face in half. "God, Mac. Are you okay?!"

"Ja-ackk…" The reply was softer this time, and Jack had to strain to hear it. His grin faded.

"Mac?" Concern now laced Jack's voice. "Mac, answer me. C'mon, buddy, give me a sign here!"

There was another stretch of silence, and then Jack heard something that made his grin come back full force.

"Be quiet Jack. My head hurts like a sonuva…." The weak but coherent reply was like music to his ears.

"Damn, Mac, don't do that to me! I thought you were dead or something!"

"Naw, I'm good." Mac chuckled, and then grunted as it jostled his ribs. "Nothing….ugh! permanent."

Jack nodded, his grin fading again, as feelings of guilt and anger filled him again.

"God, Mac, I'm so sorry." He said. Down the hall, Mac frowned as he settled himself against the wall, leaning back to ease the stress on his damaged ribs.

"What are you sorry for Jack? You didn't do anything."

"Exactly! I didn't I _do_ anything! I didn't do anything when they came in here and grabbed you!"

"There wasn't anything you _could_ have done!" Mac reasoned.

"I should have done _something_!" Jack paced in his small cell, fists clenching at his sides.

"Jack, stop! There was nothing you could do." Mac said firmly.

"I should have protected you!" Jack shouted, some deep instinctual part of him screaming in agreement. "Isn't that what being in the military is about? Protecting people? Helping them, fighting for them? God, why did I ever go into the military if I couldn't even do that!?"

"Jack, don't say that. You love being in the Air Force, you said practically said as much yourself!"

"No," Jack said sharply. "No, you want to know why I joined? I joined, because I wanted to get away from the hell hole that I lived in. And look at me now, I traded one for another." Jack said

There was another stretch of silence.

"Was it that bad?" Mac asked softly.

"Yeah, it was that bad."

* * *

_July 15__th__ 1965_

"_What the hell is going on here?!" Bill Dowtry shouted. Fourteen year old Jack O'Neill looked up from his project, staring at the man through his protective goggles, and slowly turned off the blow torch. "What in god's name are you doing, boy?"_

"_I'm building…"_

"_I don't care what you're doing! Did I say you could touch my tools?" Bill shouted, face red, spittle flying from his mouth. Jack frowned fiercely, eyes flicking to the half full beer bottle in the man's hand._

"_Your tools? These are my dad's tools!"_

"_Well, your 'dad' is dead, ain't he? And when I married your mother, they became _my tools! _And I didn't say you could use them!" Bill said, stumbling half a step forward. Jack grimaced in disgust as the smell of beer wafted over him._

"_You're drunk." He stated. Bill's face turned an even brighter shade of red. He lurched forward, and grabbed Jack by the collar of his shirt._

"_Boy, you better watch your mouth! Otherwise you just might find yourself back in the orphanage, where you belong!"_

"_What are you talking about!?" Jack shouted, attempting to pry Bill's hands from his shirt. The glazed look in Bill's eye lifted momentarily, and an evil gleam settled in._

"_We-he-he-ll now, you mean, you didn't_ know_?" Jack gave a mighty shove and managed to get out of Bill's grip._

"_Know what?" Jack bit out, tugging his shirt back into place._

"_That you were adopted!" Bill laughed, eyes now filled with a manic light, enjoying the fact that he was revealing this to Jack. The boy looked at him in shock._

"_That is _not_ true!" Bill just let out a giant laugh, doubling over as he cackled. "You lying bastard!" Jack flew at the man, tackling him to the ground. He got in a few solid punches before Bill managed to pin him to the ground. _

_*SMACK*_

_Bill slapped Jack across the face and the boy almost immediately stopped his struggles. He slapped him again, and again, repeatedly until Jack's nose was bleeding and he was almost choking on his own blood. Finally Bill stopped and got up, leaving Jack on the ground, rivulets of blood mixed with tears running down his face. _

"_Next time you decide to take me on boy, you'd best be damn sure you can take me down, or this won't be but a scratch compared to what I'll do to you." Bill hissed, then turned on his heal and stalked towards the house. He stopped a few feet away, turned around and said. "And what I do to you, I'll make it double towards your mother, so you best watch your mouth, boy!" With that he disappeared into the house._

_Jack lay on the ground, watching the clouds, and wishing he was someplace else._

* * *

"That was the first time he actually beat me," Jack said softly. "And the day that I found out I was adopted."

"I'm sorry, Jack." Mac said, knowing it wasn't enough, that nothing could erase the hurt that the other man had gone through.

"Yeah." Jack let his head drop to his drawn up knees and wrapped his arms around them. God, why was he letting the memory of it get to him so much? "It's just… I couldn't protect her. Just like I couldn't protect you."

"Jack, you were a kid! It wasn't your job to protect your mother. And, today? Jack, there wasn't anything you could have done. If you had tried, they may have killed you!" Mac said. "Then who would I talk to?"

Jack let out a disdainful snort.

"Ya know, bein' adopted, it's not all bad." Mac said; not sure if he would be well received. "I mean, sure your step-father was a vicious jackass, but you still had your mother, right? And what about your dad, before he passed away, you had him, even if it was only for a little bit."

"What do you know about it!?" Jack growled out.

"I'm adopted, too." Mac admitted. "My dad, my adopted dad, he died when I was 13. Even though I only had him for a little while, I still treasure the fact that I had him as my father."

Jack felt some of the anger melt away. For some reason, Mac's words broke through the red haze that so many had tried and failed to.

"Yeah," Jack confessed, "I still had Ma. Even in the worst bits of it, she was still there." Jack stated, remembering the nights he spent in her arms as she sang him to sleep and soothed the nightmares. "So how old were you…." Jack started to ask.

"I was five," Mac cut in. "Old enough to remember being alone, but not much else."

"From what my mom tells me, I was about two and a half when they adopted me. I don't remember any of it."

"You're lucky."

"Lucky. Yeah. Is that why I ended up in the middle of the damned jungle, ostracized to Johnson airbase, grounded because some _idiot _decided it would be a good idea to walk out into the target area during practice with _live ammo_, and got himself frickin' _shot_…" It all came out in one long rant, everything that was pent up inside, because sharing this with Mac just seemed _right_…

"Wait! That was _you?!_" Mac exclaimed, "You're the guy that everyone is talking about, the one that shot someone under friendly fire?"

"Yes, that was me, but it wasn't my fault! We were just doing basic firing exercises. Target practice! And he just walked out into the field, no notice or warning, and god I didn't see him, I swear I didn't!" The last part came out in a choked sob.

"Jesus, Jack. They blamed you for that?"

"Yes! Yes, they blamed me, everyone blamed me! I didn't mean… it wasn't like I tried…. I didn't want him to die! I didn't want anyone to die! I've _never_ wanted _anyone_ to die! I just wanted to be a pilot, to be up in the air, to fly…."

"Whoa, hay, Jack, it's okay! You're right, it wasn't your fault!" Mac said. He gripped the bars in his hands, and craned his neck to see out of the cell. He wished he could see the other man, make eye contact, grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him, do _something_, because hearing this man in agony like he was, was just _wrong…_ "It was an accident! You hear me, Jack?! It was an accident. Yes, it happened, but you are not to blame, alright? You got that?!"

There was another stretch of silence, where only Jack's ragged breathing could be heard.

"Thanks Mac." Jack said at long last. Mac smiled gently, sagging against the bars.

"Sure thing, Jack."

_To be continued…_


	7. Release

Wow! Thank you everyone for their reviews, and for all of those who put me on Author/Chapter alert. I'm so happy about all of the responses I have been getting. Keep on reading, and please keep taking the time to review. I love reading what you think, and it motivates me to keep writing. So keep it up!

Love

Bansheila

A/N: Keep a close eye on the names of the hospitals Mac and Jack are in, they are key to understanding what is happening through this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 4 Release

_

* * *

_

There were voices.

He could hear them whispering.

It was warm.

And soft.

It had been so long since he'd felt comfortable….

The voices….

What were they saying?

He tried to turn his head, to listen to what they were saying.

A name…

MacGyver.

He knew that name.

Mac, his friend.

Wait, what? What was that? What did they say?

Dead? Mac?

No.

No, no.

NO!

"Mac…."

* * *

_September 20th, 1971_

_18__th__ Surgical Hospital_

"Both of those boys were very lucky." Dr. John Cunningham said to the on-duty nurse as he looked over the file of Jack O'Neill, the man in the bed next to him.

"Yes, they were." Nurse Nancy Walton said her face a picture of concern as she stared down at the young man unconscious on the bed. "I can't imagine being in the hands of those… people for nearly a month."

"Yes, nurse. I can't express the amount of sympathy I have for them. The injuries they came in with…. It was just horrible." The doctor said, his kindly face staring down at his patient.

"That one boy, Private MacGyver, the poor dear; why, he was mostly dead when they brought him in for surgery. I'd never seen someone…." A slight groan from the bed made her pause. "Doctor," She exclaimed. "He's waking up!" Doctor Cunningham moved quickly to the side of the bed, pulling out his pen light, prying open Jack's eyelids and checking his reaction.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant, can you hear me?" The doctor called out.

Jack began struggling slightly, his head turning back and forth, hands gripping the sheets. His mouth opened and closed, trying to talk.

"He's trying to say something!" The nurse cried, happy that the young lieutenant was waking up. The doctor leaned closer.

"Jack? If you can hear me, try and answer me." The doctor tried again. Jack's eyes slit just barely open, the chocolate brown peaking through; a lone tear trailed down the side of his face, disappearing into his hair. He took a deep breath, letting it out in one desperate sounding whisper.

"Mac…."

"Lieutenant, are you in pain?" The doctor leaned over his patient, staring at his face, looking for any type of reaction or response. "Jack?" The doctor sighed. The young lieutenant had fallen back asleep.

_

* * *

_

__

_September 21__st__, 1971_

_10__th __Surgical Hospital_

Nurse Taylor gently wiped the face of the young private just transferred in, who was unconscious in the hospital bed. She smiled sadly, looking down at his battered face.

'_How horrible it must have been.' _She thought. '_To be in the hands of those monsters; and, for so long…'_

Re-wetting the cloth, she ran it over his brow, and couldn't help but think of her own son, stationed somewhere miles south of the hospital, fighting for his life. She leaned closer to her patient.

"Don't worry, now, Angus. You are safe. And, just think… When you wake up, you'll be going home." She said, continuing to give MacGyver his sponge bath.

_

* * *

_

_23__rd__ Surgical Hospital_

_One week later…_

Jack drifted peacefully into awareness. It was comfortable, warm and all he wanted to do was stay in that warm and comfortable place.

But, soon, other noises began to intrude on his peaceful place.

People talking in hushed voices.

Hurried footsteps, the clank of metal against metal.

Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, and blinked.

Jack turned his head to the side, and saw a row of sparsely populated hospital cots. He turned his head to the other side, and saw the same. Sucking in a deep breath, he brought his hand up to his face, trying to rub the sleep out of eyes.

Only, his hand was wrapped in a thick layer of gauze, with just the tips of his fingers poking out the edge of the bandage.

It was then the pain hit. A deep throbbing ache in his hand, a sharp stabbing pain in his side, and a feeling of fire in both of his legs made him groan and squeeze his eyes shut.

"Lieutenant?" A female voice called out quietly. "Lieutenant O'Neill?"

Jack cracked one of his eyes open and peered up at the middle aged brunet hovering over him. She smiled gently down at him.

"Welcome to the land of the living, Lieutenant." Jack snorted and closed his eyes again.

"Thanks, now could you do me a favor and kill me?" The nurse laughed lightly, while grabbing his chart from the end of his bed and making a note in it.

"I know you are in pain, Lieutenant. I'll go and get the doctor. He can give you something for that." She said, putting his chart back and smiling again. She turned to leave, when Jack called out again.

"Hey, nurse…" She turned, a questioning look on her face. "When they brought me in…. were there any other… survivors?" He asked, remembering what he had heard before, but hoping he was mistaken.

The pleasant expression on the nurse's face faded into reserved sadness.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. You were the only survivor that came to this hospital."

Silently, Jack's heart broke. He grieved for all the men lost in the camp he was in, but his soul wailed for the one man he had grown the closest to.

Chocolate eyes darkening in grief, Jack nodded wordlessly. Giving her own sad, understanding smile, the nurse turned and left to fetch the doctor.

And in the quiet, Jack let one tear roll down the side of his face, not quite understanding why the death of his friend was affecting him so much, only knowing that he would never be the same.

_

* * *

_

_Two weeks later, back in the US…._

Jack's rehab was slow in progress. At least in his own opinion. He wanted to be up and running again. Instead he was forced to crawl.

"C'mon, lieutenant. You can do better than that!" The jubilant voice of his therapist called from the other end of the mat. Jack, on his hands and knees, looked up at the man only a dozen or so feet away. The look on his face said more than words ever would. "Aw, c'mon Jack. Don't give me that look. I know you want to get out of here, but to do that you got to give me 110%. I know you can do more! Now, move it lieutenant!"

"I'm tryin' here, alright! Geeze, Larry, give a guy a break." Jack said gruffly, the words snapping a little more sharply than he intended. Larry looked at him with a knowing look on his face.

"You dreamt about him again, didn't you. About Mac." It was a statement, not a question. Jack sighed a little, as he continued his way across the mat.

"Yeah." He said softly.

"Ya wanna talk about it?" Jack finished his crawl and all but collapsed at the end of the exercise mat. As Larry began helping his through his stretches, Jack was silent. Larry waited patiently, and it wasn't long before the words came tumbling out.

"We were… back there, in the prison camp. We'd been there maybe, a week? I don't know. The days kinda blurred together. But, me 'n Mac, we were talking, like always. Tryin' to keep out minds off of where we were…..

* * *

"_You can't be serious!" Mac gasped out between bursts of laughter. "You really did that?"_

"_Yeah." Jack said, a big smirk on his face. "I'll tell you know, ol' Mr. Garvey was pissed when he came out and found that we had TP'ed his whole yard. Took him weeks to get it all down. God, I think we used like twenty rolls. It was great!"_

_Both young me sat giggling like school boys for a good fifteen minutes, one picturing the events in his head, the other remembering the event fondly. _

_The joviality of the moment was crushed, at the tell tale metallic clank of the door leading to their block of cells was opened. _

_Both men stiffened at footsteps echoed down the hall. Four men stopped at Mac's cell and four at Jack's. Black sacks were tied over their heads, then they were lead out of the dank cell block. _

_They eventually made their way outside, the bright sunlight sneaking its way through the threads of the sack over his head. _

_He was forced to his knees, and felt someone else, Mac maybe, forced to their knees beside him. Words spoken in Vietnamese gibbered, and from what little he knew, Jack caught the word "Execute". _

_His heart jumped into his throat, choking him as panic rose up inside of him. He felt struggles to his left and heard shouts in both English and Vietnamese, so others must have understood what was being said as well. Jack began to struggle as well, only to feel two strong hands grasp his shoulders and forced him to hold still._

_Eventually, the monologue ended, and Jack heard the ominous sound of a rifle being loaded. He cringed, and tensed, waiting for the impact, not wanting to die and yet welcoming the freedom it would bring from the hell-hole in which he was imprisoned._

_The loud reverberation of the gunshot echoed loudly in his ears, and yet there was no pain. Jack blinked rapidly as the bag was pulled from his head. _

_Almost immediately, his eyes were drawn to the body laying face down in the mud beside him. It was impossible to tell what the young man had looked like, as the majority of his face was gone, but when Jack looked around and there were no other prisoners in the courtyard, he knew it was his friend._

_Mac. _

_No…._

_No!_

_NO!_

"_MAC!" He shouted….._

* * *

"It's the same damn dream every time!" Jack exclaimed. "No matter what, Mac ends up dead. Because of me! Because I couldn't protect him. Because I _didn't do anything_ to protect him!" Jack slammed his fist against the exercise mat, frustration and grief making his chest ache.

"Now, Jack. Don't talk like that. You know it wasn't your fault that Mac died! In fact, from what you've told me, that man you saw wasn't Mac, it was another prisoner. Mac had already been taken back to his cell and was waiting for you." Larry said, looking his young friend in the eyes.

Jack scowled and nodded sharply.

"I know, but I thought it was him….." Jack huffed a frustrated breath through his nose. "Ya know what, Larry? Ya know what the worst thing is? That, in the month we were in prison together, not once, did I ever see what Mac looked like. I think that's what haunting me the most. In my nightmares, his face is just….gone." Jack rubbed his hands across his face, trying to block the image of a dead body with a mutilated face from his mind. "God, I don't even know how he died! Was he in pain? Was it quick? Did he suffer? God help me, but I almost wish that he had been the one who was shot, if only to know that he went quickly and didn't suffer, that he wasn't tortured to death."

The only thing that Larry could do was squeeze Jack's should in comfort. He knew it wasn't enough, but understood it was all he could do for the suffering young man.

_

* * *

_

_Same time, 10__th__ Surgical Hospital_

Sometimes, Nurse Taylor loved her job.

Oh, it went without saying that it was a tough job, helping care for the wounded soldiers, sometimes not being able to do anything but comfort them through their pain, or hold their hand as they realized they had lost one, or more, of their limbs. It was a very tough job. It was brutal, working three days straight, with only two hours rest, and living on rations. It was a horrifying job, having to change uniforms more than once a day, because the other had become so drenched in blood, the metallic odor was overpowering.

But, on days like this, Nurse Taylor absolutely loved her job.

She watched as the doctor performed the last of the neuro-checks on one Private Angus MacGyver, as he woke from his near four week coma.

She watched as he passed with flying colors, and the doctor announced that he was well enough to be transferred back to the states to continue is recovery in a more suitable hospital.

She smiled when Angus looked over at her, and grinned, giving her a little wave.

She cried, when she spoke with the young man for the first time since she had been caring for him. When he told her he remembered her talking to him, when he expressed his sympathy for her son, who had died in combat a week earlier.

Yes, on days like this, Nurse Taylor loved her job.

Private Angus MacGyver shifted a little anxiously as the doctor finished his tests.

"Alright, Private. Aside from typical muscle weakness, you are good to go. You will be transferred back to an appropriate facility in the States for rehabilitation. You should be back on your feet in a few months." The doctor said, smiling down at his patient.

Mac grinned back, though it really didn't reach his eyes.

"That's great, Doc." Mac cleared his throat, and asked the question that had been on his mind since he woke. "Hey, Doc? Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Certainly."

"When…. When I was brought here. Were, were there any other prisoners? Any other survivors?" He asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer. He was afraid of what they might tell him. The doctor looked at him almost apologetically. Mac felt his heart sink.

"I'm sorry, Private. You were the only survivor brought to this hospital."

Inside, something broke irreparably. Some part of his soul cried out in anguish at the news, as he realized that Jack, his friend and the one that helped him through the hell they had all went through, was dead.

He nodded quietly and the doctor took his leave.

Brown eyes filled with grief looked up as Nurse Taylor stepped up to the side of the bed. Her eyes were filled with empathy, and one lone tear made its way down his cheek.

"Oh, sweetie…" Nurse Taylor whispered. Slowly she reached her arms up and around his shoulders, and cradled his head to her chest and held him.

But Mac let no other tears fall; he simply leaned into the quiet strength, and knew that he would never be the same again.

_To be continued..._

_September 20__th__, 1971_


	8. Discoveries

**Hello everyone! I am so sooooo sorry about the long wait. I hope I haven't upset too many over the wait, but RL was being a _bitch_, and literally sapping any inspiration I had for this story. Then when I finally _did_ get the inspiration back, I lost a week's worth of work because my piece of junk computer decided it was going to start freezing anytime I so much as moved the mouse...**

**But I digress... That is all in the past now and hopefully this chapter will soothe any savage beasts and keep them satisfied until I can get the next chapter out. **

**Enjoy!**

**PS: This chapter does have brief language, so fair warning if anyone doesn't like that. Jack will be Jack though, and he can have a potty mouth when he's angry. **

* * *

Fifth Chapter: Discoveries

The years went on for now Captain Jack O'Neill. After his recovery from the prison camp in Vietnam, he threw himself into his work. Not long after his recovery, Jack was enlisted into Black Ops. They took a keen interest in his multiple skills and it kept him busy. Busy enough that he never had time to dwell on things. He took mission after mission, hardly ever seeing the small apartment he called home.

Then he met her. Sara.

A tall blond bombshell, he'd fallen for her almost instantly. And, suddenly, work wasn't so important. He still took missions, but not like he had been. They were married after two years. Life finally seemed like it was going good for him.

It was now fifteen years since that fateful day, when he learned that his friend Mac had been killed in the prison camp. Though they only knew each other for a short time, that death still haunted him. Still, he found that keeping busy helped to keep the memories at bay. Sara helped, too. He finally told her about him, after she kept asking him about the nightmares. She didn't really understand, but she was supportive. It helped, some of the old wounds were finally soothed, not healed, but made more bearable.

Life went on, and it was good.

* * *

Things had gone well for MacGyver. After his recovery, he was honorably discharged from the Army, and went on to pursue other things. He graduated from college with a Masters in science and engineering, and finally set out to satisfy the wanderlust in his heart.

He had girlfriends, but nothing ever serious. The ones that did stick around for a while were soon chased away by the nightmares; by the screams.

He kept himself busy, and that helped. The constant traveling and seeing new sights, and experiencing new things keep the memories from overwhelming him. He never quite understood what had made the bond so deep so fast, but Mac still dearly missed Jack. He missed the talks that they had, the easy laughter that would flow and the sense of kinship that fostered between them.

Then he met Peter Thornton, or Pete as he preferred. After an adventure with his childhood friend Jack Dalton, which nearly ended up killing him and introducing him to the insane Murdoc, Mac eagerly accepted a position with the DXS. It gave him a purpose in life. Helping others was something that Mac reveled in, and it helped fill the emptiness inside.

Time went on. He buried himself in his work, and let no one closer than necessary.

* * *

June 15th 1985

Murphy's Law. Whatever can go wrong; will go wrong. Jack O'Neill hated Murphy's Law. If he ever found out who Murphy was, he was going to shoot the bastard in the face.

The mission was a total cluster fuck. It was supposed to be an in and out job. Quick and easy. No muss, no fuss.

But no….

Fuckin' Murphy's Law.

Now he was stuck here, in a cell, chained to a wall.

O'Neill tested the chains on his wrists futilely. Deep inside he knew he wasn't going to be able to break them, but…. Fear fuels desperation.

It wasn't the first time that he'd been taken prisoner.

But, this was the first time that no one thought he was alive.

He could remember how it all happened clear as a bell, despite the head injury.

* * *

_Running….._

_Bullets were flying everywhere. That was making it hard to run. But, he had to get back to the transport. They were leaving in five minutes, with or without him. _

_He was almost there….._

_Just around the next corner…._

_He made it. He could see the commander and other soldiers laying down cover fire for him. Jack gathered his waning energy and put forth a final burst of speed._

_100 yards…_

_75 yards…._

_60…_

_50…_

_40….. OOOF!_

_Jack hit the ground hard as two bullets slammed into his back, knocking the breath out of him. That would have been fine, his armor protected him against the bullets. He would have been fine, had there not been a cluster of rubble right next to him when he fell._

_Jack felt the searing pain through his skull as his head impacted the rocks. _

_He couldn't move; he was barely conscious. But, he could still hear his name being called by Colonel Cromwell. He couldn't respond. What he heard next made is heart sink to his stomach._

"_O'Neill's dead, abort mission. Pull out, Pull out! Retreat to the rendezvous point. Retreat!"_

_Cromwells's loud voice echoed above the loud din of gunfire and shouts. He wanted to call them back, scream that he was alive, but he couldn't move. _

_The noise slowly quieted. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but eventually he heard voices, and faces of enemy soldiers hovered over him. Hands picked him up and threw him into the back of a vehicle. _

_He was a P.O.W again._

* * *

Mac shuffled around his workbench, rubbing a hand over his tired face. It was early, even for him, but sleep had been elusive of late. Insomnia was par for the course in his line of work. You don't take life threatening mission then come home and sleep like a baby. It just didn't work like that.

But, he'd adjusted. His body was mostly used to being a little sleep deprived.

This time though…

There was something different. He could handle insomnia, and he could even handle the nightmares. But lately, they were getting worse.

Mac had lost count of the times in the past two weeks he'd woken up, a scream catching in his throat, body trembling, as pure terror flooded his body with adrenaline. He could never remember what exactly the dream was about, but he could remember the pain, the terror, the utter despair and hopelessness. The nightmare always left him trembling and shaken and unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

Not only that, but it happened every time he closed his eyes. Now, he'd just taken to avoiding sleep for as long as his body could hold out.

Settling down he began tinkering with another invention of his when the knock came at the door. It was a distinctive knock, one he immediately recognized as boss Pete Thornton's.

"C'mon in Pete!" He shouted, and heard the sound of the door squeaking open.

"Hey Mac." Pete stepped up to his young friend and best operative. "I've got something for you."

Mac looked up from the mess of wiring he was fusing together and spotted the manila envelope in his boss's hands. He welcomed the distraction. Maybe another mission would be just what he needed to keep his mind too occupied for nightmares.

"Watcha got for me?" He asked. As Mac turned and help his hand out to accept the folder, Pete got his first good look at his friend.

"Mac…." He said. "You look terrible! Have you gotten any sleep since you came back from Brazil?"

"Some." Mac said, dropping his hand and instead shuffling to the kitchen. "Enough."

He pulled the carton of orange juice out of the fridge and held it up in askance. Pete shook his head in negative, and Mac poured himself some.

"Nightmares again?" Pete asked gently. Mac sent him a sharp look. Pete new his friend suffered from the occasional nightmare, from the few times they'd had to bunk together on assignments. Mac gave him the bare facts, enough to satisfy him without telling the whole story. Mac didn't think Pete would understand it. Hell, half the time _he_ didn't understand it…

Pete knew better than to continue that line of questions. Mac's whole body language screamed 'Drop it' louder than if he'd used a bull horn.

Mac took a gulp of juice before nodding back to the folder in Pete's hand.

"So, what's the assignment?"

"A rescue mission." Pete said, grateful that they could continue on to something less awkward, less personal. "It seems a young up and coming air force officer has become imprisoned in an Iraqi POW camp. A Colonel Morrison called me up today and gave me a full briefing, but sent this for the agent that was going in. And, that's you."

Mac set down his glass, and reached out and took the pro-offered file. He flipped it open.

His jaw dropped.

* * *

"Tell us where they plan to strike next!"

SMACK! The sickening sound of flesh striking flesh sounded in the small interrogation room, followed by a pained groan. Jack spit out a glob of blood from his mouth, wincing as his split lip tore a little more from the motion. The Iraqi interrogator casually wiped his hand on a towel, before picking up a cattle prod from a nearby table.

"Where is your base located?"

Jack kept his mouth shut, but he was screaming on the inside as the man made his way closer with the prod. He grit his teeth and braced himself as the prod was jabbed into his ribs. The only sound that came out of him was a small grunt of pain. They would get nothing else.

"You choose to be difficult, American." The interrogator spit the word out of his mouth like it was a vile curse. "Then I will be difficult as well."

The man nodded to one of the guards standing at the door, and he moved forward. Together they untied Jack from the chair, and hauled him to his feet. The interrogator then held him in place, while the other man roughly striped Jack of his shirt. The lack of food and water, plus the multiple beatings Jack had already sustained kept him from putting up to much of a fight. Within seconds, Jack's torso was completely naked.

They forced jack down onto a long, narrow wooden bench and strapped him down. He couldn't move. Jack heard the interrogator come closer, then the smallest sound of something swinging through the air, before the sharp pain of a leather switch making contact with his back.

Even after two weeks of near constant torture, Jack still did not scream.

* * *

"Pete?" Mac said softly. Pete looked over at his friend. He was shocked to see the younger man was deathly pale, his eyes were wide with disbelief; but there was also something fragile there. Something that Pete was sure would shatter at the slightest misstep.

"Mac? What's wrong?" Pete asked tentatively.

Mac continued to stare at the file in his hand.

"His name. Pete, what's the airman's name?" Pete paused before answering. That information should be in the file…..

"O'Neill. Captain Jack O'Neill."

Mac's eyes shut.

"He did a tour in 'Nam?"

"Yeah, I think that's right." Pete frowned. "Mac, what's going on? What's wrong?"

"He was a POW there, too." Mac continued, as if he hadn't heard Pete. "There was a raid…" Mac briefly looked up at Pete. "I was there. He was in the cell next to me. He was killed in the raid of the enemy base. They told me he died." That fragility in Mac's eyes fractured. "I couldn't save him, Pete."

Pete didn't know what to say. What could he say?

"Mac…" Pete took a few steps closer. He reached out to his friend; put his hand on Mac's arm. The younger man jumped at the contact and pulled away. Chocolate eyes stared at Pete filled with confusion.

"He's alive?" Mac's voice was so quiet; Pete had to strain to hear it.

"Yes, Mac." Pete said. "He made it out alive." Mac still seemed to be in shock at the revelation, so Pete continued. "But, he needs your help now Mac."

And, all of a sudden, Mac shuddered. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and looked back at Pete. It was almost as if someone had thrown a switch. Mac's whole demeanor changed. His eyes darkened to almost black, and fierceness filled them. The confusion on his face melted into determination. His body tensed and his hands fisted around the file he held.

"I'll take this assignment, Pete. I may not have been able to save him before. But, I damn well can save him now." His voice was rough with emotion, but there was no mistaking that he _would _be taking the mission, no matter what Pete said. Pete could tell by the look on Mac's face, that he would have no choice but to give him the assignment, like he had originally set out to do. But, with what he just witnessed, Pete hoped that the mission wouldn't destroy his friend if anything went wrong.

* * *

Mac left early the next morning. As he sat in the private jet that was taking him overseas, he studied the files he'd been given. He was still slightly in shock that Jack was alive. For years he'd been haunted by the man's death, never understanding why it had affected him so much. Now, he had the chance for answers.

If the mission was successful.

Mac fervently prayed that he wasn't too late, that the Air Force hadn't waited too long to bring in outside help, that Jack wasn't dead…. Again.

Tossing down the file he was reading, Mac leaned forward and scrubbed his tired eyes. Propping his chin on his hands, elbows perched on his knees, Mac's eyes were drawn to the table in front of him. The neat stack of files had been sent askew from the one he'd thrown down.

MacGyver frowned as he saw a photo peaking out of the stack. He could just slightly see the neck and chin of whomever was in the photo. He plucked it from the stack and his eyes widened comically. Clear as day, the photo was marked as Captain Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill. Mac stared at the man in the photo, taking in his brown hair, chocolate colored eyes, and the slight smirk that broke the façade of seriousness.

If he didn't know any better, MacGyver would swear it was a picture of himself.

* * *

**So, what do ya think? **

**Please Review, it feeds the muse ;-D.**

**'****Sheila**


	9. Revelations

**Author Note: Hello everyone! Look what I did! I posted another chapter! Hooray for me! Anyway, I can't tell you how much the reviews and favorites and subscribes I've gotten mean to me. They have been the things that have kept me going! Thank you so much. **

**It also has occured to me that I have never put a disclaimer on this story, so...**

**Disclaimer: The boys are not mine. Mac belongs to Paramount Pictures and Jack belongs to Stargate (II) Productions, SCI FI Channel, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions (damn Jack, you got enough owners there?). However, should they one day be willing to sell said boys... I'm sure we can work something out *wink*. ;-D. The plot, OC's and everything not in relation to MacGyver or Stargate, though, those are mine. **

**Sooo, this chapter begins right where the other left off. Not too much in the way of action, and yes one of the boys knows the truth now. Yay for plot advancement. No particular warnings, though there are some dark thoughts at the end. I think you guys can handle it, ;-). **

**Enjoy!**

**Bansheila**

* * *

Mac wasn't sure how long he sat there staring at the photo, but a sudden shudder of the plane snapped him out of it. Then he was a flurry of motion. He rifled through the stack of folders, searching for the one that held Jack's personal history.

_Where is it, where is it….. Ah, there!_

Mac grabbed the thin folder and read. With each line, his eyes widened and things started to make sense. Jacks birth date was the same as his. They were both born in the same state, in the same city. They were both adopted.

Their birth mothers' name was the same.

"Oh my God…." Mac breathed. The file fell from to the floor and he dropped his head in his hands. This was too much, but it all connected. Why had he felt so close to a man he'd never seen? Why had he never forgotten him after he thought Jack was dead? Why had he been so easy to talk too, when he'd never been like that with anyone, not even his own parents? After all those years of questions, he'd finally found his answers.

Jack O'Neill was his brother. His twin brother.

Now more than ever, a sense of need filled him. He _had_ to save this man. There was no room for any mistakes. He couldn't let Jack die. Not again, not after what he'd just found out. There was no way MacGyver was going to let his brother die in some hellhole.

MacGyver was going to bring Jack home.

* * *

"Get up, American!" The harsh voice pierced the darkness, and was followed by a face full of ice cold water.

_Not the best way to wake up. _Jack thought. Shaking his already aching head, Jack opened his one good eye to glare balefully at the interrogator in front of him.

He was short; thin and wiry, with too small eyes spaced close together with a little pig like nose. His close cropped black hair was in perfect contrast with his dark tanned skin. He didn't look like he was completely Iraqi in decent, maybe some European mixed in there; or American, considering his hostility towards Jack.

_Not that I was expecting them to invite me to dinner…._

Not knowing his name, Jack had dubbed him Bob.

With water dripping in his eye, stinging from the sweat it collected on the trek down his face, Jack reached up and wiped at his face, before spitting on 'Bob's' boots. 'Bob' curled his top lip in disgust before introducing his boot to Jack's ribs. The vicious kick sent Jack sprawling onto his back, dragging a small grunt from his lips. His back was still shredded from the whipping he'd received yesterday. Still, somehow, with all that they had done to him in the past months, he still hadn't screamed.

Now; though, 'Bob' seemed to have made it his personal goal in life to make Jack do just that.

"Get to your feet, American. We have something special planned for you today." The evil smirk on his thin lips didn't sit well with Jack.

"What, have you guys finally responded to my request for a room with a view… and a toilet?" Jack snarked, "It's about time. If had taken much longer I wa—oof!" Another boot to the ribs emptied all the air form his lungs. "Okay…" He gasped. "Not in a good mood today, eh Bob?"

'Bob' just glared at him before waving his hand at the too lackeys behind him. They moved forward while 'Bob' spun on his heel and stalked from the room.

"Guess not." Jack got out before a meaty fist hit him in the face, knocking him unconscious.

* * *

The long plane ride was finally over. Mac gathered all the files he'd practically memorized by now, and slung his small pack over his shoulder and moved to the exit of the aircraft. The hiss of the door opening was a prelude to the dry heat slapping Mac in the face. An instant sweat broke out on his brow, and he quickly brought up his hand to shield his eyes against the brightness.

"Mr. MacGyver?" A voice called out. Mac glanced down to the end of the portable stairway that was in front of plane.

"Yeah, that's me." Mac quickly descended the stairs, eager to get started in the mission to find Jack. The young marine nodded.

"Follow me, sir." He quickly turned and jogged towards the building that was only a few yards away. MacGyver followed, determination lighting his features.

The sweat from the heat turned to near ice when Mac stepped into the building, so cold was the air conditioning. He shivered, but kept a steady pace behind his guide. They continued down the long corridor, finally coming to an unmarked door.

"The Commander is waiting for you in here, sir." The marine said, snapping a quick salute, before disappearing the way they had come.

Mac hefted his bag before rapping his knuckles on the door. A deep baritone voice called out from inside.

"Come!"

Mac had one last thought as he turned the knob on the door.

_I'm comin' Jack. Don't give up, brother. I'm comin' for you._

He stepped into the office, and closed the door behind him with a soft snick.

* * *

Jack didn't want to wake up. Waking up meant he would probably have to move. He didn't want to move. Moving meant pain. He didn't want to feel any more pain. That was all he felt anymore.

Sometimes he really hated his smart mouth.

His mouth used to get him into all sorts of trouble when he was younger. Whether it was from his step-father or neighborhood kids and bullies, he always managed to spit out some sarcastic comment that wound up with him in the midst of a fight. With the kids and bullies he gave as good as he got, and was tougher for it. He learned what he needed to survive in a scrap, a skill that had come in handy many times in his life. With his step-father though….

Well, sometimes you picked your fights. You learned when it was worth fighting back and when it was pointless. When it was hopeless.

He was starting to get that feeling again.

He'd been fighting for weeks.

He was getting tired. Tired of the pain. Tired of the questions. Tired of the beatings, and whippings, and the electrocutions.

He wanted to sleep.

He wanted to sleep and never wake up.

But, he couldn't. He couldn't do that. Sara was waiting for him. He had to make it back to her. He had to. She was one of the only things that kept him going. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could see her face; smiling down at him, her golden hair around her head like a halo on an Angel.

His eyes still closed, he pictured her face.

What he wouldn't give to be back with her, in her arms. Safe. Warm. Free of pain.

Her face faded, and he drifted in the oncoming blackness. Just before the darkness took him, a feeling of determination and fierce protectiveness washed over him. A familiar voice whispered in his mind as he fell asleep again.

_**I'm comin' Jack. Don't give up, brother. I'm comin' for you.**_

Jack's brow creased in uncertainty right before sleep claimed him.

_Mac?_

* * *

**I know its short. Sorry. I've just started Christmas break, though. So, I have some free time on my hands. I may be able to get the next part out before I start school again. Hopefully. Maybe. We'll see. **

**Anyway, please review, I love reading what you think. **

**Love**

**Bansheila**


End file.
